I’ve done it! I’ve taught another zombie to write for me! I’m a genius! Everybody said that I’d fail, but I proved them wrong. Creepers have no hands, they said. How can you become a writer if you’ve got no hands? Well ha! Look at me now!

So. To business. Greetings reader. My name is Morris. Morris Magenta, and I am the world’s first and only Creeper inventor. I used to be a human inventor you see, but I had a rather unfortunate accident involving the patent-pending Magenta Reskin-O-Matic and an unexpected lightning storm. While experimenting on a rather docile creeper, lightning struck my machines and overcharged them. Now my mind is stuck in the body of that creeper. I can only assume the creeper’s mind has run off with my human body, and now spends his days snarling at people and attempting to blow up. But that’s a story for another time. To business

This is my diary. It is my hope that in hundreds of years’ time, the great scientists of the future will look back on this and wonder at my magnificence. As my first triumph, I give you this: the Magenta Zombie-Powered Scribble-O-Matic. A simple, elegant device for those of us who don’t have hands to write with. Through weeks of hard work I’ve managed to train a zombie to write down everything I say. Spelling was a challenge, but once I taught him to read a dictionary the rest was easy.

In the weeks and years to come, he will record my research and inventions for the world to read about. But first…Bob, didn’t you shut the door? Stop writing, I’m talking to you…the door is open, the sun is coming in?! You silly! I told you to always shut the door, or else you’ll get burned! Stop writing before it…

Day 46

I…

Day 47

Why…do…I…bother…

Day 78

Alright. Let’s try this again, shall we? Ready? Ok. Greetings reader. My name is Morris Magenta, ex-human-now-creeper inventor. As you may have already worked out, I’ve been having some problems writing down my findings. However, I think I’ve finally managed to solve the problem.

Allow me to introduce you to my scribe, the one writing down everything I say. I call him Undead Fred. He is my writer, my hands, my butler and my bag-carrier. I found him, well, where you might expect a zombie to be found – wandering around the hills after dark. Through careful training and a great deal of effort, I have taught him to do all sorts of household tasks for me. He can clean, cook, fix things. I’ve even begun teaching him to dance for my amusement, though so far this has proved more difficult than expected.

Also, importantly, Fred understands that he cannot go outside during daylight, and that he should avoid the sun. This is a big step. All of my previous zombie butlers (or zombutlers, as I call them) failed to grasp this simple concept. They caught fire each morning, and this led to some unfortunate entanglements with my explosives research. However, with any luck, Fred will not have this problem.

It is my hope that Fred will be the first of many. Once people see the usefulness of a zombutler, everybody will want their own undead live-in house-servant. They will see the scope of my genius, and I will be a hero. But for now, I simply have to iron out the ‘issues’. Like Fred burning the pork-chops every morning – he may be able to cook, but he’s really rather dreadful at it.

Oh don’t look so miserable Fred, I’m just being honest with our readers. You’re no gourmet chef, are you? What do you mean no ingredients? Well don’t look at me, go and find them. That’s your job isn’t it, you great zombie.

Are you still writing? I’ve told you Fred, you don’t have to write down everything I say. Just the parts I tell you to write down. Ugh…I can see we’re going to have to work hard at this. We’ll try again tomorrow, ok?

Now make dinner Fred. And don’t burn it this time. And use some spices.

Day 80

I had Fred put the sign outside today. We argued about it (or rather, I argued and Fred grunted), but after much deliberation, we’ve settled on the message. This is what it said:

Do you have a problem that you just can’t solve?

Do you have a problem with science involved?

Do have a job you don’t know how to do?

Well buddy, this creeper’s the keeper for you!

Morris Magenta: Creeper Inventor. Ask inside for details.

I’m rather proud of that. Especially the rhyming, that took hard work. I’ve had Fred put the sign up outside our front gate by the path, in the hope that travellers might spot it on their way past.

I should explain. See, as a creeper and a zombie, it’s not often that Fred and I get to meet new people. Most people either run away from us or try to attack us with swords and arrows before I’ve had a chance to talk to them. This, as I’m sure you can tell, is not a good way to make business contacts. And if I’m going to be a famous inventor, that’s what I’ll have to do, at least until I find a way to get my real body back.

So we decided to try something different. If people run when we approach them, I thought, then why not let them come to us instead? Then they’ll know what they’re in for, and perhaps they won’t be so frightened. So Fred and I moved into this great old house we found by the old north

road, and I’ve moved all my experiments and inventions here.

I don’t know if the house was actually abandoned, or if the people were just out and, when they returned to find a creeper and a zombie living in their house, decided never to come back. But either way, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is Fred and I now have a base of operations.

Now I just have to wait for the sign to start working, and for our first customer to come through the door.

Day 82

Well that did not go well.

I think we have work to do. Today, we had our first customer. A grey-haired fellow with a beard came wandering up the garden path just after teatime. I saw him through the window. He looked like a cheerful-enough type, whistling to himself. Not the kind to scare easy.

He knocked on the door politely. He said he’d read our sign, and he was looking for an inventor to help engineer a system of redstone gates for his farm animals. Very interesting stuff, I thought. I’m sure I could turn my massive intellect to a task like that. So I told Fred to let the man in.

However, the man obviously wasn’t expecting a zombie. When Fred answered the door, the man’s hair turned from grey to white.

To make him feel more at home, Fred smiled. This did not help. The man screamed, and ran back down the garden path like a runaway minecart. And of course, since the sun was still up, I couldn’t have Fred run after him.

Note to self – perhaps we should put some kind of warning on the sign. Don’t fear the zombie, he’s house-trained. Something like that?

Day 83

We had another visitor today. A woman this time, she wanted us to invent some kind of contraption to control the flow of water through her crop fields. However, one look at Fred and she turned tail and ran.

I’ve considered asking Fred to wear a mask. Perhaps one with a smiley face. However, part of me thinks this will be even more frightening. Perhaps some scare-o-meter tests are in order, maybe involving pigs. Food for thought.

Day 85

Another client scared away by Fred on the doorstep. Something is seriously wrong with our approach.

Day 86

Postman visited today. He too was spooked by Fred, but he stayed long enough for me to rush downstairs and explain that Fred and I are civilized mobs, and are perfectly harmless.

The postman (Gordon, his name was) stayed for a cup of milk and a chat. Seemed a nice enough fellow. However, he said unless I could invent a way for him to deliver his post twice as fast, he had no real use for an inventor.

I believe that, if I were to tinker with it, I could adapt the Magenta Minecart-Mounted Apple-Cannon to fire post instead of apples. However, that’s a thought for later.

In the meantime, Fred, I need to teach you how to behave in front of guests. If you’re delivering us food and drink, you can just open the doors. You don’t need to knock them down like you’re invading a village. Remember, you’re a civilized zombie now.

Day 87

Another one ran away. We’re making another sign.

Day 88

I’ve had Fred make another sign. We’ve put it next to the first sign. The second one reads:

Be Advised. I am a creeper, my butler is a zombie.

We are civilized and mean you no harm.

Please don’t run away.

That should do the trick Fred, don’t you think?

Day 89

Two came today. Both of them ran away. I don’t understand, are these people some special kind of silly?

Day 90

The sign was facing the wrong way. Fred has corrected this.

Day 91

At last! Our first true customer. My first step on the road to being a famous inventor renowned throughout the world!

He came by about lunchtime. I’d just finished my morning doze and was getting ready for my afternoon nap when Fred alerted me up. He pointed out of the window, where a young man was walking down the garden path. A poor fellow in cheap old clothes and a crummy leather cap. But an honest face, it seemed to me, and a look of genuine worry on his face.

“Hello?” he cried, knocking on the door, “Mr Magenta? Are you in there?”

Don’t stand there staring, I told Fred. Go and answer the door, we can’t leave this poor fellow standing on our doorstep. And remember to be charming. We can’t afford to let this one go running off as well.

As it turned out, there was no need to worry. Fred opened the door, smiling as pleasantly as his gruesome zombie lips could smile (which, I can promise you, is hardly pleasant at all). Instead of running in fear, the newcomer bowed respectfully.

“You must be the zombie butler,” he said, “Is Mr Magenta in? My name is Hoagie

Ravenswort. I need to speak to Mr Magenta at once, it’s very important.”

Just as I’d taught him, Fred led Hoagie Ravenswort up to the room I’d taken as my office. A large, windowless room at the top of the main staircase, where I have several of my inventions on display. The Magenta Burglar-Proof Iron Door. The Magenta Super-Jumping Knock-Back Boots. The Magenta Tree-Felling Chop-O-Matic. There was also a painting of me that I’d had Fred do hanging at the far end of the room, to add a touch of elegance. It wasn’t the best painting ever, it made me look like an angry shrub. But it’s the thought that counts, isn’t that right?

When Fred led Hoagie into my office, I was waiting at the far end. Creepers, of course, do not sit down. The risk of tripping, frightening oneself, and accidentally exploding is too great. So I simply stood behind my desk, waiting for my first customer.

“Greetings,” I said, in my please-don’t-run-away voice, “My name is Morris Magenta, Creeper Inventor. How can I help?”

“Good to meet you Mr Magenta. My name is Hoagie Ravenswort of Pebbleton.”

“And how may I help you, Mr Ravenswort?”

“Well, it’s like this see…” said Hoagie, “Pebbleton is a mining town, always has been. We dig coal, iron, even gold and diamonds out of the ground and sell it all over the land. It’s not normally very dangerous, and we’re always careful. But last week, there was…and incident.”

My interest was perked, “An incident, you say?”

“Yes Mr Magenta. One of our mining teams went down an old shaft, going deep, deep, underground. They never came back. When we tried to follow, we found the passage was caved in with gravel and sand.”

“Did you try to dig through?”

“Of course, but it just went on and on. It would take us weeks to dig through by hand, and it might be too late to rescue the lost team by then.”

“So you came to me,” I said, “Hoping that I would be able to use my great and formidable intellect to rescue your missing miners?”

“That’s right,” said Hoagie. He slipped off his hat, like he was begging, “Please Mr Magenta. I can’t just leave my friends down there.”

I pretended to think about what Hoagie had said for a moment. I didn’t want him to think I was a pushover, of course. Then I slipped on my best creeper smile (something that, I noticed, made Hoagie flinch).

“Well, Mr Ravenswort, you’re in luck!” I said, “It just so happens that Fred and I have an opening in our schedule. Fear not, my friend. We shall rescue your lost friends.”

“You’ll do it then?” said Hoagie, his eyes lighting up like forges, “You can rescue them?”